Secret Sin

5

“It’s fine,” I tried to assure him, “but I sort of passed out and need to make sure she got home safely.” “Jesus Christ, it just gets better.” “Yeah, yeah. If I’d wanted a lecture, I would have called my damn father. Just give me the f*****g number.” Every silent second that ticked by was dripping with his disapproval. “I’ll text you,” he bit out before the line went dead. Seconds later, my phone dinged with the number. Taking a deep breath, I dialed Pippa and waited. “Hello?” The sound of her sexy, vibrant voice eased the vise that had clamped tight around my chest the second I realized she had disappeared. That was, until I heard a man’s voice in the background. “Let’s go back to the bedroom. I’ve got something special to show you.” Every muscle in my goddamn body threatened to snap with strain. Who the f**k was with her? “It’s me,” I forced past clenched teeth. “Oh!” she said with genuine surprise. “I didn’t know you had my number.” “Am I interrupting something?” My voice was as sharp as a blade. It was a little much, but I couldn’t help myself. The thought of her already off with someone else had me itching for a fight. “It’s only been a few hours since it was my bedroom you were checking out. Seems awfully quick to do more exploring.” “Excuse me?” Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “Are you seriously upset with me?” “Not crazy about you running out after everything that happened.” I could hear how crazy my words sounded, but there was no stopping them. Emotion got the better of me. Pippa sighed. “Listen, it’s not a big deal, okay? I’m sorry that I misled you, but you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not expecting anything from you.” I didn’t think she could have said anything that would have pissed me off more. Like she thought I’d be relieved to cut and run. I took in a slow, deep breath to calm myself. “You and I need to talk,” I managed to say in a civil tone just as the man’s voice in the background spoke again, rattling my newfound control. “Who the f**k is that?” I demanded. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s my real estate agent. No need to get your panties in a wad. I’m looking for an apartment, and one unexpectedly came on the market. Now, I don’t want to waste his time, so I need to go.” “I need his name,” I demanded. “What? Why?” “Because you’re alone with this guy, and I want to know where to look should anything happen to you.” Another sigh. “You’re being ridiculous, but I don’t want to argue. His name is Clint McAllister. Happy?” “Hardly,” I shot back dryly. “Bye, Bishop,” she sang before the line went dead. “This is Tom Pruitt. I’m a lending agent at First National. We’re trying to close on the Central Park South property and have some big problems here. I’ve tried to call Clint McAllister, who is listed as the buyer’s agent, but he’s not answering his phone.” I infused as much authoritarian urgency in my voice as possible. People are innately followers. Present yourself with sufficient confidence, and you can get people to do just about anything. “Oh! I’m so sorry, sir. He’s with a client at a property right now.” The receptionist’s voice was wrought with worry. As I’d planned, she had no desire to be pinned with the responsibility of a sale falling through. “This twenty-million-dollar deal is in jeopardy of not closing if I can’t get to him. Do you know the address where he’s at? I could send someone to get him a message in person.” “Yes, of course. Let me get that for you.” Not bothering to check my name or credentials, the woman read off an address located not five minutes from my place. Perfect. I should be able to get there in time. “Thanks for your help.” I hung up and rushed from my apartment. Ten minutes later, I was stationed in the lobby of a swanky apartment building when Pippa and her real estate agent stepped off the elevator. She’d changed her outfit into a baby-blue sheath dress that brought out the golden color of her skin. The look was striking but professional, and I hated that she might have wanted to look nice for the asshole at her side. Clint McAllister was close to my age, maybe a couple of years older. He was fit, reasonably attractive, and standing ten inches too close to my woman. Your woman? Have you lost your goddamn mind? I didn’t know what the hell had come over me, but there seemed to be no stopping it. “Pippa, dear. I’m so sorry I’m late.” I swept her in for a quick kiss, keeping her hand in mine after my lips left hers. The shock in her eyes was almost comical. She darted a look from me to Clint and back before collecting herself. “Um, no problem. I’m not sure this place was quite what I was looking for anyway.” She turned to her companion. “Clint, this is Bishop. Bishop, my real estate agent, Clint.” She accented the word as if to say, I told you so. I didn’t care in the slightest, too caught up in the way she’d assumed her role as my girlfriend without making a scene. I was certain I’d get an earful later, but for now, she was mine. An unsettling degree of satisfaction swelled in my chest. “Good to meet you, Clint.” I extended my hand, giving his an extratight shake. His lips thinned as his gaze cut to Pippa. That’s right, motherfucker. Hands off this one. I turned back to Pippa and continued. “I really think we need to stick to the East Village for you. Murray Hill is great for young professionals, but I’d say it’s a bit lifeless for you. A little farther south, you get easy access to better nightlife while still staying close to Midtown. Maybe we can run by and look at something in that area.” Pippa frowned. “Actually, I’ve been thinking the same.” I squeezed her hand. “Try not to look so disappointed.” “I have a listing over there you might like, and the place is empty,” Clint chimed in. “Owners left the furniture for staging but have already moved. We could run over there now if you two have the time.” “We’d love to,” I responded quickly before she had a chance. She eyed me briefly. “I’ll let my driver know.” The second we walked into the lobby of the renovated building in the East Village, I knew I was right. Pippa’s face lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The small borough was rich with old-world culture but modernized in a trendy, artistic manner that attracted a younger crowd. Pippa was too full of life to be happy in a community comprised of overworked day traders and lukewarm accountants. This transitional neighborhood was much more her speed.